


Mr Monk & His Lady Troubles

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Monk (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Drinking to Cope, Drunken Kissing, Ficlet, First Time, Kissing, M/M, Minor Angst, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 22:54:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15350559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: Money is always an issue for everyone, and it's going to be especially for Sharona when she's a single mother. She walks out on Adrian when she's not getting paid, stranding Monk in the police station, alone and without wet wipes. At least Randy Disher's always on-hand for girl advice, company, and half a bottle of Jack Daniels.





	Mr Monk & His Lady Troubles

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic. Posted in 2007 to Livejournal.

"We need to get paid, I need cash," Sharona snapped, "The stores in my neighbourhood insist on money!" She thrust the case file under Lt Disher's nose, instantly snarling as she saw it taken back again.

"I'm sorry," Adrian apologised, "I can't - there's more to it."

Angrily glaring at the two of them, she twisted her watch strap around to face her. "If you don't submit that invoice, I'm quitting," she tapped the clock, "I'm giving you three seconds." No sooner had she counted down, she was storming out of the office door, leaving Monk to solve the crime on his own.

"What should I do? Tell me," he swallowed.

"I can't do that," Randy shook his head. A whimper, and a fleeting glance from those soft brown puppy-dog eyes, and how was Disher supposed to remain firm? He looked like he was going to cry. "Listen, you can come and help me with some reports if it makes you feel better," he offered, "It bores the hell out of _me_." The patient lieutenant beckoned for him to sit beside him, pulling up a seat. It seemed that a _pep talk_ was in order. "Let me tell you - women are nothing but trouble. You don't need them. I knew this girl this one time..."  
  
Randy went on - he'd had a long string of past affairs, flings, girlfriends he'd wronged and exes who'd scorned, loathed and adored him. Some of which his friend knew to be false, and could contest, where others were characters from books and films that _he_ knew but Disher clearly didn't realise _he'd_ read. "Uhuh, yeah," Adrian managed. However, he _didn't_ let on; he wanted to let Disher have his moment here. After all, he'd listened to him ramble on enough in the past. Whenever Stottlemeyer had become tired of his drone, he would pass him on to the one man who probably hated hearing it just as much, but never showed it. Randy's the cop who never gets the recognition he deserves, nor the kind of attention he should. Of the few areas where he can feel superior, he takes the chance to, and that isn't often. He hadn't had _that_ many women, but he'd had more than _Monk._

Anyone would have thought he was Don Juan, hearing him talk like that. Going on about Tayna from Nevada, Anna from Lousiana, Trixie from Dixie. And before he could reel off all of their names, dusk was upon them and, it was only after seeing the many officers milling around their desks and preparing to leave, did they realise they had been chatting for _hours._ The Captain had given his goodbye with a salute, a wave, and most of the staff had left for home, but _he_ had far from finished. Besides which, Disher had the keys - locking up was an important job. "Don't you think we should be going?" Adrian asked.   
  
"Settle down," the young man began to mellow, reaching into his top pocket for something. He retrieved small silver hipflask and proceeded to take a swig. "We're only just getting started." Monk was slightly tempted to ask him what the whisky was for and, even more so, why he had it on his person - but he thought he'd better not. He might not _like_ the answer if he _did_. All he knew was, he wasn't interested in joining in, at least not until Randy started nagging. "Come on, it won't hurt you," he told him. "I found _these_ babies in the lost and found," he finally explained.

By this time he'd managed to persuade the neurotic to drink the narcotic, still shaken by the sudden departure of of his assistant. In this state he was fragile and easily led astray. Not that Disher had any desire to trick him but, in his experience, _everyone_ needed a little help from JD every once in a while. When the canteen was empty, the square bottle came out, and was passed from man to man in a circle of only two. And soon they were drunk, the non-drinker being a positive lightweight and the policeman being a show-off, trying to impress. They'd had _more_ than their share of alcohol.

"I don't see how any of this is going to get me Sharona back," Adrian protested.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," the lieutenant replied. "I can _see_ why you'd want her back. She's quite the fox, you know..." He whistled and made lewd noises like the famous cartoon wolf. "Hubba hubba," he giggled, clearly so very inebriated.

But the mood soured. 'I'd never noticed,' the older man murmured, "I could never look at another woman - not since Trudy - I know... I know I'll die alone..."  
  
"Hey," Disher drunkenly embraced him, "Don't be sad." The both of them cuddled for a few minutes and, so heavily under the influence, Monk didn't even _think_ about getting a wipe. Which was just as _well_ , with Sharona keeping them in her purse. Randy paused for a second, before adding, "Well what about men?"

The detective appeared puzzled at the suggestion. "What about them?"

Randy always had been rubbish with words, and his earlier boasting had been the very best of his bravado - but, ever the master of the _subtlety_ , he hoped Monk wouldn't mind him explaining in another way. He slid the nearly-empty glass across the table, as not to spill what was left - and, with one hand fumbling within his black hair, kissed him right on the lips. Assuming he would freak out, he immediately pulled back to give him room to breathe. He knew his own mouth tasted of sour bourbon and anything but the minty-fresh, plastic tubed toothpaste Monk was surely used to. But he was wrong to worry.

"Maybe that's so crazy," Adrian turned to him, smiling, "It might just work..."


End file.
